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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29658372">Here For the Long Haul</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BornToRun91/pseuds/BornToRun91'>BornToRun91</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Dean/Cas Multiverse [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - High School, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Parent John Winchester, Self-Esteem Issues, Vomiting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:21:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,137</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29658372</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BornToRun91/pseuds/BornToRun91</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas and Dean have a conversation that leaves Cas uncertain and Dean wishes he could have avoided forever.</p><p>This collection includes stories that all begin the exact same way:  high school friends Dean and Cas driving together in Dean's Impala.  Beyond that though, the stories go in their own directions.  Each story is a standalone story where Dean and Cas' personalities, their relationship to one another, and experiences are different.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Dean/Cas Multiverse [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2179428</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Self-Worth?  What Self-Worth?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So far, I've had fun coming up with different Dean/Cas dynamics and situations for the stories. While I have a couple more in mind, if you have an idea or suggestion, I'd love to hear it.</p><p>Thanks in advance.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Cas and Dean have a conversation that leaves Cas uncertain and Dean wishes he could have avoided forever.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Staring out the car window, Cas’ thoughts drifted away as he watched the loose leaves of autumn fly past; the sleek black Chevy Impala raced down the calm residential streets like an unstoppable force as some hairband rocked over the radio.</p><p>
  <span>At the sound of Dean’s voice booming from the driver’s seat beside him, Cas couldn’t help but jump.  He wasn’t sure how long Dean had been talking, trying to get his attention, but judging from his tone and heavily furrowed brow, Dean was clearly annoyed.  “Dude, I’ve been talking to you for the last five minutes.”  He paused for a moment, as though to let the guilt sink in.  “What’s the last thing you heard?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean wasn’t trying to hide his irritation, but even if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> try, it wouldn’t have mattered; he and Cas had been friends long enough that Cas could pick up on the telltale signs of Dean’s frustration, no matter how subtle they may have seemed to anyone else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, Dean.”  Cas watched as Dean shot him quick glances while trying to keep his attention on the road until Cas eventually allowed his gaze to drift back out the passenger window.  He was met with the reflection of his own blue eyes staring back at him as the houses and trees rushed past in a blur.  The silence between them was deafening, but what more did he need to say?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude, where’s your head?”  Although Cas continued to stare out the window, he could hear that Dean’s tone had changed and he imagined the furrowed brow relaxing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had driven another few blocks as Cas tried to figure out what he wanted to say.  It wasn’t until he felt the car slow and finally stop that he turned his gaze back toward the driver’s seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turning off the car, Dean removed the keys from the ignition and dropped them into the pocket of his worn leather jacket before turning on the bench seat to give Cas his full attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart racing and mouth dry, Cas looked at his friend thoughtfully as he took a calming breath before allowing a small, gentle smile to creep across his lips.  “Dean," he began slowly, "if there is something that you want to tell me, please know that I am here to listen.  I won’t judge or criticize; I am here for you, you know that.”  The car remained silent, not even the November wind daring to make a sound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After waiting in silence for what felt like hours, Cas tried again, this time taking a bit more of a direct approach; he was talking to Dean Winchester after all, so direct was probably best.  </span>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>I know, Dean.”  When Dean didn’t respond and instead looked back quizzically, Cas repeated the statement, but this time with more pause and emphasis on every word.  “I know, Dean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something began to register on Dean’s face, although Cas could not be certain what it was.  The muscles in his jaw tensed as his cheeks flushed and color drained from the rest of his face; while Cas could not be certain, it almost looked as though Dean had stopped breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean.”  Cas spoke, but Dean’s eyes seemed to be staring through him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I--I don’t--uhm, I’m not--I don’t know what you mean.”  Forming a cohesive sentence seemed to be physically taxing as Dean’s hands, clenching tightly onto the sleeves of his leather jacket, began to tremble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas moved a little closer, and in doing so, Dean tried to put even more distance between them, but couldn’t; the door of the Impala remained closed, trapping him in the car like a scared, caged animal.  “Dean, it’s okay.”  Realizing that moving too close was not the right approach, Cas lifted a calm and reassuring hand instead, and at the sight of it, Dean squeezed his eyes closed as though he were expecting to be slapped, punched, beaten.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas lowered his hand and made no further attempts to move closer, but he did not back away.  He had been wrestling with how to talk to his best friend for days now, and he was not going to give up so easily.  Instead, he sat quietly, patiently.  After another moment, Cas noticed a single tear drop down Dean’s cheek, but his green eyes remained tightly closed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want you to talk to me, Dean.  Please.”  Cas’ voice was unchanging, his pitch never fluctuating.  Even though this conversation made him nervous--the fear of saying or doing the wrong thing and therefore hurting Dean had been on his mind since making the decision to broach the topic--he did not want to give Dean any reason to think that he, Cas, was angry or upset with him.  And although he wanted to respect his friend’s space, the sight of more tears sliding down Dean’s trembling cheeks brought Cas across the bench, wrapping his arms around the boy beside him who was still trying so hard to disappear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the contact, Dean recoiled, but Cas didn’t let go.  “It’s okay, Dean.”  The sound of heavy sobs filled the silence of the car and the air seemed to thin, making breathing difficult.  The strong and confident Dean Winchester appeared, in that moment, powerless.  Despite never pushing Cas away, Dean remained rigid except for the quaking of his shoulders and the tremors that shook through him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minutes crept by with neither boy moving from their spot when suddenly, the sound of Dean’s shaky breathing changed.  Now, it seemed as though he were struggling to breathe, choking on air itself.  Cas moved back towards the middle of the bench, leaving one hand rested on Dean’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cas--” Dean gasped, his frightened eyes now shining like large green orbs; while clutching at his chest, his tears continued to fall.  “I ca--can’t breathe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean, you’re okay.  You’re safe.  Just take a slow breath.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fear was now visible across Dean’s face as one hand clutched at his chest, the other at his forehead.  “Cas,” he gasped again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean, you’re having a panic attack.  You need to breathe.  I'm here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Dean had always been a kind and compassionate friend for Cas going all the way back to their early days in elementary school, he had never been able to talk about himself or his own feelings ("Nah, Cas, I just needed to bitch for a sec'.  We don't need any chick flick moments.").  On so many occasions, he and Cas had sat talking together when </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cas</span>
  </em>
  <span> was struggling with his brothers or stressing about school, and though Dean would listen for hours and offer comfort in any way he could, he never allowed the same for himself.  Some may attribute this to societal expectations of masculinity and “manliness,” and although that was definitely true, Cas knew that even more so, Dean had been fighting a losing battle with his own self-worth for years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean, I know that this is scary, but you have to listen to me.”  Cas forced Dean to look him in the eyes.  “I need you to try to breathe, Dean.  Please, just breathe.”  And Dean tried.  Shallow, choppy breaths escaped his lips, and Cas found that he had begun to take slow and deliberate breaths himself.  After several minutes, the sound of Dean’s breathing began to normalize and the terror began to fade from his eyes, although it did not disappear entirely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas’ hand was still resting on Dean’s shoulder; once it seemed that the worst was behind them, he rubbed gentle circles into his friend’s arm, hoping that the pressure would help to provide some kind of relief.  And although it did seem to do so for a moment as Dean closed his eyes and continued his slow inhale and exhale, that relief soon faded and was replaced with a look of shame and panic.  Before Dean could speak, Cas was again embracing his friend and allowing the silence and their closeness to speak for them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cas.”  Dean’s voice was hoarse.  When Cas moved back to look into those familiar green eyes, he saw that Dean looked older, weathered, and defeated.  “Cas,” he repeated.  His voice choked with emotion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, Dean.  I’m right here.  I’m not going anywhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boys sat in silence for a moment, Cas watching Dean closely, Dean staring down at his hands.  Finally, Dean spoke.  “How?”  The question was barely audible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas spoke, his tone level with concern and even hesitance.  “When you stayed over a couple weekends ago, you were talking in your sleep.”  These words seemed to hit Dean hard as he grabbed his stomach and grimaced, small beads of perspiration visible along his hairline.  “And after then, I just tried to watch a little more closely.”  Cas paused before continuing cautiously.  “And when I was at your house last Friday for movie night, I was on your computer when you ran down to get food and I saw your search history.”  That was it.  That admission sent Dean writhing in his seat as though suffering from excruciating pain; without that, he could have said it was all speculation, but with that, Cas had proof.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not removing his hands from his face, Dean’s words came out rushed and muffled.  “Cas, I’m so sorry.  Please, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean for this to happen.  I couldn’t--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas took hold of Dean’s wrists in a way that was both gentle and forceful, and even though Dean’s eyes stayed covered, his words stopped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Cas spoke, he articulated carefully and spoke slowly, wanting to be sure that every word was heard and understood completely.  “Dean, you have </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> to apologize to me for.  Nothing.  Okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, Cas--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn it, Dean.  No.”  Dean’s glistening eyes peaked through his fingers and Cas’ knuckles gently pressed against his cheeks as he continued to hold Dean’s wrists in place.  “You have been my best friend since fourth grade, Dean Winchester.  I am so sorry that I ever made you feel like my love for you was contingent on a specific sexual orientation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It broke Cas’ heart to see his best friend so clearly uncomfortable talking about himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go inside.  Please.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was Friday, so no one would be home at the Novak house for hours; Cas’ parents were out for their book club and his younger brother was having a game night with some friends from school.  Dean had been reluctant to get out of the car, but Cas insisted, and eventually, they made their way inside together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Under normal circumstances, Cas would not have pushed Dean to talk about this; he would have disregarded what he heard and saw, and instead waited for Dean to feel comfortable enough to start the conversation himself (if and when that ever happened), but the internet search history changed things.  Cas had not tried to snoop; he was searching for the cast list of the movie they were about to watch and inadvertently stumbled upon recent searches like “suicide hotline,” “self-harm,” and “how to fix being gay.”  In the moment, Cas was too confused, too nervous, too taken aback to know what to do.  When Dean came back into the room with sodas and a pizza, Cas did his best to carry on like normal, but he knew then and there that his friend was struggling and needed help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After making their way into the Novak house on that chilly November day, the boys sat in Cas’ living room, each on their own chair, facing one another, but not making eye contact.  Cas was watching Dean intently, but Dean’s eyes were trained on the floor, unblinking, as though expecting the rug beneath him to do something amazing.  Not wanting Dean to feel pressured, Cas wanted to allow Dean to speak when he was comfortable, but after several minutes he realized that that would probably never happen, so Cas spoke first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean, if you’re comfortable, I’d like you to talk to me.”  Dean neither spoke nor lifted his eyes from the floor, so Cas spoke again.  “I don’t want to pretend to know what you’re thinking, and therefore don’t know what to say.”  When Dean </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn’t respond, Cas took a deep breath.  “Okay.  That’s okay.  Then, if you’ll allow me, I am going to say what I’m thinking.  Please, interrupt me, correct me, contradict me at any time.”  Seeing a slight nod to Dean’s head, Cas took another calming breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to go back a couple weeks.”  He adjusted himself on the armchair, placing both feet on the floor and resting his elbows on his knees while looking over at Dean; even if he didn’t want to speak, Cas wanted to be sure that he was aware of any signs that Dean was uncomfortable or had something to say.  “It was a night that you had slept over.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Cas, they’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>superheroes</span>
  </em>
  <span>!  How can you complain about watching a movie about </span>
  <em>
    <span>superheroes</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”  Dean spoke as though Cas had offended him greatly and maybe even sprouted a third eye on his forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking off his thick black glasses, Cas began to clean the lenses with the microfiber cloth from on top of his dresser.  “It’s too fantastical for me, Dean.  And although these filmmakers try so hard to make it seem plausible, the stories are too outlandish and inconceivable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Inconthievable!” Dean blurted, clearly unable to control himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas squinted, tilting his head to the side as he looked at Dean carefully.  “Are you having a stroke?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude!” Dean yelled, throwing a handful of popcorn at  Cas’ face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh--Dean, you know that I have an issue with butter residue and popcorn kernels!”  Cas quickly began picking up any piece that he could find, hoping that it didn’t leave a grease stain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean rolled his eyes as he clicked play on the remote.  “Jee-zus, Cas!  Just sit down and relax.  The movie’s starting.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The movie was over </span>
  <em>
    <span>three hours long</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  Even though Cas noticed a number of inaccuracies related to his understanding of physics, the United States government, and human genetics, he decided to keep those comments to himself; Dean didn’t often seem to appreciate Cas’ criticism of superhero films.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude, it’s 11:11.  Make a wish!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas looked over at Dean as he was setting up a pillow on his makeshift bed.  “I don’t understand the connection between the time of day and wish-making, Dean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean looked Cas in the eye, clearly unamused.  “Of course you don’t.”  He then jumped to his feet and grabbed his backpack.  “Man, I hate when you get popcorn kernels stuck in those little spots behind your teeth.  I’ll be right back.”  And with that, Cas could hear Dean’s footsteps as he walked to the bathroom down the hall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their Friday movie night tradition started two summers ago and, with the exception of a few Fridays here and there, it was one tradition that the boys would not abandon.  Rotating between weeks, Dean and Cas would take turns hosting, and it was decided long ago that staying the night would be easier than someone having to drive home in the pitch black, even though they lived less than a mile from each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After Dean returned from the bathroom, it was Cas’ turn.  Within ten minutes, the lights were off, their cell phones plugged in, and they were getting ready for sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Night, Cas.”  Dean’s voice already sounded heavy, as though barely awake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good night, Dean.”  Although this was already later than he normally stayed up (research showed that 7 to 9 hours of sleep was recommended for his age group, and who was he to argue with research?), Cas was finding himself more alert than normal.  He was silently blaming the caffeine he had an hour or so before when he heard talking.  It was quite clearly Dean’s voice, but it sounded jumbled.  “What did you say?” he asked, but he heard no reply.  Listening intently, he heard Dean speak again, but could not make out what he was saying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Climbing off of his bed, Cas carefully crouched down beside Dean; sure enough, he was talking in his sleep.  Cas was unable to understand much of what he was saying, but Dean’s words were monosyllabic and quick, his tone something close to anxious or frightened.  Assuming that he was having a nightmare, Cas was about to wake him when Dean’s words became a little easier to understand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It only took a moment longer for Cas to realize that Dean was repeating the name of the male superhero from the film, and the tone that he had previously identified as being anxious or upset was clearly something else.  As he listened more carefully, he realized that Dean sounded enamored.  Putting two and two together, Cas was left feeling a little perplexed and guilty for stumbling onto his friend who was asleep and vulnerable, his subconscious having been brought to light in a way that would never be allowed if he were awake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Climbing back onto his own bed, Cas tried to put it out of his own mind.  Dean continued to ramble, his volume low and his tone consistent, but Cas ignored it until sleep took him.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean was mortified.  At no point during Cas’ narrative did Dean pick up his head or try to speak, but his body language and the tremors told Cas everything that he needed to know about his friend’s current mental state.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean, if I misunderstood something or interpreted something incorrectly, please let me know.”  Dean was silent, but he shook his head slightly.  “Okay, then if you’re okay with it, I’m going to keep going.”  Again, Dean gave a slight nod of the head, so Cas continued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As I said before, after that night, I tried to be more observant when you and I were together.  Not because there would be any problem if my initial deduction was correct; more because I wanted to be sure that I was seeing you completely.”  Cas and Dean had been friends for 8 years, and the idea that his best friend may have been keeping something like this a secret bothered him; for years, he had prided himself on knowing Dean better than anyone else, sometimes even better than Dean knew himself.  “I don’t think we need to get into those things, but what I would like to say is that I believe my observations supported what I was beginning to assume.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas knew that this conversation was hard for Dean, so he didn’t want to go into the details of it all; however, after that night, he had started picking up on details that may have been there all along, but that Cas wasn’t looking at properly.  For example, he noticed that Dean had a habit of watching his lips intently whenever Cas spoke and he would often lick his lips absentmindedly while doing so; Dean would also allow his eyes to wander and focus on attractive people when they were in populated places, and while he often made verbal comments on the physical attributes of ladies, Dean’s eyes followed men just as often, but always without comment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean, I would like you to talk to me for this last part.”  Although he was trying so hard, Cas could not hide the waver from his own voice; not only was this the most definitive proof that he had regarding Dean’s sexuality, but he was about to ask his emotionally-unavailable friend to confirm or deny that he had been thinking about harming himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sigh, Dean picked up his head and looked into Cas’ eyes for the first time since his panic attack, and the sight before him made Cas sad.  Dean’s eyes were puffy, his cheeks blotchy, and he looked absolutely exhausted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas paused for a moment, and to his surprise, Dean spoke.  “I--” Clearing his voice, Dean tried to speak once more.  “I, uhm, don’t really know what to say, Cas.”  He dropped his eyes to his lap.  “Everything you’ve said so far has been true, and I’m guessing your assumption about me is too.”  With that statement, the sadness and hurt crept back into his voice.  “And I’m so sorry.”  A new wave of sobs broke and Cas couldn’t stop himself from kneeling in front of Dean, holding both of his hands in his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean, I don’t understand.  Why are you apologizing to me?”  Cas couldn’t hide the sound of his own voice cracking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In response to the question, Dean looked at Cas through a stream of tears, his face almost offended by the question.  “Cas, I’m gay!”  He yelled the words as though trying to rid himself of their meaning too.  “I’m gay, Cas, and I’ve felt this way for years!  And I’m sorry for doing that to you, for betraying your trust, for false pretenses and everything else.  I’m not who I wanted to be and I’m not the friend that you deserve me to be, and I--”  The words had flown from his mouth in a rush of speech until he seemed unable to speak any more, leaving his final statement hanging in the air between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean,” Cas’ eyes were brimming with tears, but there was a small smile on his lips.  “Dean, thank you for telling me that you’re gay.  I am so grateful that you told me, but you should not be apologizing.  You have </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> to apologize for.  You are the same person now that you have always been; you mean the same to me now as you always have.  Why do you think you owe me any kind of apology?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I--I’m not who I wanted to be, Cas.  I’m not the cool guy, or the ladies man, or anything anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First of all, that’s not true.  Your status and reputation do not change because of this, and so what if you’re not a ‘ladies man’?  That has never defined you.  But I still don’t understand why you think your sexuality would change anything.”  Cas hated being so persistent, forcing his best friend to talk about a topic that clearly brought him such pain, but Cas was afraid that if Dean closed himself off right then, he may never open himself up to talk again, or maybe even do something worse.  Before Dean could respond though, Cas continued speaking.  “No, Dean, I don’t care your reasoning.  What matters is that you know that you are wrong.  Dead fucking wrong, Dean Winchester.  Your sexual orientation does not define you; and I do not feel as though there have been any false pretenses or types of betrayal.  Dean, you’re my best friend.  You always have been and always will be if I have anything to say about it.”  Cas pushed himself up and grabbed a hold of Dean, hugging him where he sat.  “You have nothing to apologize to me for.  Our friendship will be what it has always been, okay?”  Cas felt Dean nod against his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, Dean.”  Cas’ voice was slower now, soft but full of dread.  “We need to talk about those internet searches.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean nodded.  “Yeah, I know.”  He hiccupped as he wiped at his nose with the back of his hand.  “I promise you that I never did anything.  I don’t think I was ever really going to.  I just didn’t know what to do and I was afraid you and my parents, or even Sammy”--his voice broke on his little brother’s name--“would tell me to fuck off or something worse when you found out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never, Dean.  Never, ever, ever.  Never.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean nodded, trying to speak a few times, but not quite able to make the words come out.  After clearing his throat and wiping his nose again, he was able to say, “Thanks, Cas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have done nothing, Dean.  You have nothing to thank me for.”  He paused for a moment before continuing.  “Thank </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> for being you, Dean.  And please don’t ever question our friendship again.  If you need something--to talk, to listen, to have someone stand by your side, or help distract you from whatever--I’m here.  I’ve always been here, and I plan on being here for the long haul.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. It's Movie Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Cas is now aware of Dean's secret and Dean is struggling to understand where their friendship goes from there.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dean didn’t deserve Cas’ friendship, he knew that, but he was so thankful to have it.  After their whole conversation that afternoon, Dean tried to leave--he damn near sprinted all the way out to the Impala--but when he tried to start the car, he realized that his keys were missing.  He patted down his pockets, even searched on the car’s front seat, before turning back to the Novak house and seeing Cas standing in the window with Dean’s car keys swinging from his fingers like a pendulum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Begrudgingly, he went back up to the house, but by the time he opened the front door, Cas was no longer holding them.  “Dean, it’s movie night.”  Cas’ tone was as level as always and he was acting as though Dean </span>
  <em>
    <span>hadn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> just spent the last couple hours dropping a bombshell on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cas, I think it would be best if I just went home.”  Deep down, Dean knew it was, but he wished it wasn’t.  Things were going to change.  They </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to, right?  How couldn’t they?  Cas had been so tolerant and understanding as Dean unloaded his crap on him, but now it was time to cut things off.  “I really appreciate how nice you’ve been to me, but….”  </span>
  <em>
    <span>But you don’t have to pretend like things are normal, because they’re not.  I’m not.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Dean found that he couldn’t meet Cas’ gaze any longer, so the quiet seconds that passed between them felt infinitely longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean.”  When Cas said nothing further, Dean’s curiosity had gotten the better of him and he looked up to see Cas staring straight back; those blue eyes were mesmerizing and hypnotizing and against his better judgement, Dean couldn’t force himself to look away.  “I’ll say this once again.  It’s movie night, and this was the week that you said we could watch </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the Swedish version.  I even made Swedish meatballs for the occasion.  They were intended to be a joke; however, I tried one and they were not terrible.  Now, to clarify, I didn’t actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>make</span>
  </em>
  <span> them, but the bag said they were Swedish and I’ve had them in the slow cooker for several hours now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean was not sure what to do or say.  Was it really possible that Cas still wanted to have him around?  This was a big thing.  Even though he didn’t have, you know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>feelings</span>
  </em>
  <span> for Cas, Cas was still a guy, and Dean had just admitted out loud for the first time that he liked guys.  Why wasn’t Cas looking to send Dean packing?  Maybe this was a final hoorah before they went their separate ways; he did make food, so maybe he just didn’t want it to go to waste?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The longer Dean stood silent, the more Cas seemed to know what he was thinking; years of friendship could do that.  When he spoke, Cas’ voice was more stern than Dean had anticipated and his eyebrows had come together, although he didn’t necessarily </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span> mad.  “Dean, I understand if you are upset with me and don’t wish for us to spend time together any longer.  You undoubtedly want to end our friendship, and are therefore choosing to leave and spare my feelings.  I understand completely and appreciate the gesture.  I’ll get you your keys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas was turning around when Dean found the ability to speak.  “Cas!”  Dean seized his friend by the shoulder, spinning him so they were face-to-face once again.  “Why the hell would you think that I’d not want to be your friend?”  When Dean realized that his hand was still on Cas’ shoulder, he had to fight the urge to withdraw it, but felt that, in this moment, the contact was appropriate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly!” Cas yelled, grabbing Dean by both shoulders and shaking him violently.  “I don’t think that you want our friendship to end, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and neither do I</span>
  </em>
  <span>!  Stop trying to make me kick you out.  Fuck!”  It was very unlike Cas to swear, so anytime that he did, Dean recoiled but couldn’t help a small smile.  “Dean, listen to me carefully because I am not going to repeat myself further.  I do not want you out of my life.  In fact, I hope that absolutely nothing between us changes--no, that’s not true.  There are two things that I would like to see change in this relationship.  First, I hope that you understand that there is almost nothing that you could say or do to make me change my opinion about you; second, I don’t want you feeling like you ever again have to hide anything from me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And at that moment, Dean knew that the argument was over.  Even if the feelings of guilt and shame persisted, he knew that Cas wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was he.  If Dean hadn’t sucked at talking about his feelings, he would have told Cas how much this meant to him; how his greatest fear with this whole thing wasn’t that his parents or brother would hate him, or that the other kids at school would think he was a freak, but that Cas would decide that Dean wasn’t worth the hassle; how Cas was, without a doubt, the most important person in his life, even though he never took the time to tell him.  But, Dean </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> suck at talking about his feelings, so instead, he wrapped his arms around his best friend and from Cas’ response, Dean knew that he understood all of his unspoken words.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Operation:  Help Dean Winchester</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>As Dean is trying to figure things out for himself, Cas is worried about his friend's mental health, so he calls in the big guns for help.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>In the days and weeks to come, the routines of Cas and Dean didn’t change:  Dean would drive them both, along with their younger brothers, to school in the morning; they maintained the tradition of their Friday night movies; and with the holidays approaching, they even did their holiday shopping together.  In so many ways, their relationship felt the same as it always had.  Since that evening though, Dean was very careful not to talk about or allude to his sexuality, and Cas wasn’t going to bring it up either; it had been risky enough to initiate the conversation once, and he did not want to make Dean feel overwhelmed or cornered.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On a Thursday in mid-December, about a week and a half before Christmas, the boys sat at a table in the food court of the mall, surrounded by a mass of people; not surprisingly, it seemed as though most of the city had also decided that this was the right time to get their holiday shopping done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas was just finishing the last bite of his salad when he glanced over at Dean.  They had been talking about fun and nerdy gift ideas for both of their younger brothers--Samuel Novak and Sam Winchester were good friends, although not as close as Cas and Dean--but Dean had stopped responding all at once.  Cas watched him for a moment as he realized that Dean’s attention was on something over Cas’ shoulder.  Turning carefully, Cas looked down the corridor that led towards the stores and shops.  Although there were people everywhere, Cas was fairly certain that he knew what had caught Dean’s attention.  Sitting together at a table while enjoying their meals were two men.  Based on their body language, their proximity to one another, and the ways that they seemed to live in a world all their own, Cas was left to believe that they were a couple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned back around, looking at Dean again, but Dean seemed oblivious to him.  “Do you ever want that?” Cas asked as he tapped his friend’s hand gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean jumped in response and his cheeks reddened.  “I, uh--what?”  Neither his tone of voice nor the look in his eyes could hide the guilt that he was clearly feeling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean.  It’s okay.  It’s me you’re talking to.”  Cas allowed these words to sink in as Dean’s shoulders remained rigid and his eyes almost fearful.  “Dean, there are hundreds of people in this small area.  No one is paying any attention to our conversation, and even if they wanted to, it is too loud to hear anything.  We are essentially hiding in plain sight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that, Dean seemed to relax slightly as his eyes trained on the couple once more.  “I don’t know.”  He sounded sheepish, but the fact that he responded to Cas’ question at all was something that Cas was extremely proud of him for.  “I’d never really thought about being in a real relationship with </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so I can’t say for sure that I would want to, but….”  His voice trailed off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The ability to sit at a table like that in a public place, happy and relaxed, comes with confidence.  Baby steps, Dean.  You’ll get there.”  Dean ran his hands through his hair and adjusted his glasses; although he typically wore contacts, he’d started wearing his own thick black frames more often since their conversation.  Cas wasn’t sure what had prompted the change, but he had already chosen not to ask too many questions.  “Have you thought about talking to your brother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean laughed in response, although it was a hollow and lifeless sound.  “And say what?  ‘Hey, Sammy.  Just so you know, I like dudes.  I hope you won’t hate me.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, not exactly.  I think the first part would be appropriate, but the second part is unnecessary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean looked at him incredulously.  “Dude, it would change everything between us.  Now, for whatever reason, Sammy looks up to me--well, you know what I mean.”  Although Sam was three years younger, he was already taller than his older brother.  This served to be a bit of a sore subject for Dean as his younger brother seemed to be the full package:  he was a handsome kid even with his “stupidly long hair,” he was very intelligent, and far more mature than Dean had ever been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean, you admitted to me that one of your greatest concerns on this topic was that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> was going to judge you or not want you around anymore, but we’ve already established that you could not have been more wrong.  Don’t you think then that you should give people a chance and maybe have a little faith?”  Cas knew that Dean was struggling and therefore overthinking all of this; while Sam </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> look up to his older brother, his love and respect for Dean would not be affected by this.  If only Dean would see that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The conversation ended there, and as they stood up from the table, Dean collected the scraps from their meals and walked over to a garbage can.  Cas grabbed their shopping bags (disappointingly few for the amount of time they’d walked through the stores that day) and as he handed Dean his purchases, Cas put a reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Cas.  Uhm, Dean’s not home right now.  Didn’t he tell you?”  All six feet of Sam Winchester was standing in the doorway of the Winchester house.  Although it was December and the days had been getting progressively colder, Sam was in nothing but a pair of athletic shorts and a mismatched t-shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Friday and one of the rare occasions when Cas and Dean did not fulfil their weekly movie night tradition; Dean had something going on with his mom, and although he had told Cas a dozen times that he would try to get out of it, Cas had insisted that he not.  Dean was a senior and Mary no doubt wanted some time with her oldest son, but more importantly, Cas needed to seize this opportunity for himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, Sam, I was hoping to talk with you for a while.”  Cas could feel his cheeks flush, but he was holding out hope that Sam would mistake his embarrassment for a simple response to the night’s biting temperatures.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah.  Come on in.”  Sam looked mildly perplexed at the request, but stepped aside all the same; they had been fixtures in one another's lives for so long and this wasn’t the first time they’d interacted without Dean.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stepping inside, Cas was grateful for the warmth.  Taking off his tan trench coat, he hung it on the hook near the door before following Sam farther into the house.  “Like I said, Mom and Dean are gone someplace and Dad is delivering tonight.”  It was not uncommon for John Winchester to be gone this late; although he worked during the day as a mechanic, he ran deliveries in the evening as a way to supplement income for the family.  “So, did you want to talk in my room, or in the kitchen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhm, either would be fine.”  Cas offered Sam a nervous smile which made the younger boy stop midstep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cas, is everything alright?”  There was no urgency in Sam’s voice, but rather care and concern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sorry.  I just wanted to talk to you about a couple things and thought it best if we could do it in private.”  Sam shot him one more questioning glance before making his way down to his bedroom.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Turning the knob, Sam allowed Cas to enter first and Cas found that the room was just as immaculate as ever.  While Dean’s bedroom was as chaotic as his personality with laundry, books, and even childhood action figures laying about, Sam’s room resembled that of a neat and studious college student.  As he was admiring the family pictures on Sam’s dresser, Cas pulled out the desk chair for himself while Sam closed the bedroom door and settled himself on the edge of his bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence settled in around them, but Cas refused to let it settle for too long.  The day that he and Dean had gone to the mall, he had realized that Dean’s level of self-worth was continuing to dwindle (if that was even possible).  Cas knew that he had to do something to help Dean take some steps forwards, and having calculated the risks carefully and assessing the pros and cons of what he was about to do, he had decided to have a conversation with Sam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sam--” Cas began but was immediately interrupted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cas, I think I know what you are going to say.”  Sam was leaning forward with his forearms rested on his legs, both feet planted firmly on the floor in front of him.  It was easy to forget that he was just 15 years old due to his size and the mature way that he carried himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sam, while I appreciate that, I find it highly unlikely--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s about Dean, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas smiled.  “Considering you are his brother, I arrived at your home to speak with you privately while he was away, and, although I enjoy your company, he is one of the only things that you and I have in common, I think it is safe to say that, yes, it is about Dean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s gay, right, Cas?”  Sam asked the question with a mix of confidence and caution, as though he knew the answer to the question before even asking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For days, Cas had been struggling to determine the proper way to initiate this conversation before settling on an approach that he believed was both tactful and earnest; with this question, however, Sam obliterated Cas’ plan and left him speechless, his mouth agape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeming to appropriately read into Cas’ reaction, Sam spoke once again.  “Cas, if you know something, please tell me.  I’ve tried working through this on my own, but have been struggling to know for sure, and we </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span> know that Dean isn’t going to tell me anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As his brain tried to reboot, Cas decided to let Sam lead until he could figure out what to properly say.  “I am not at a point to confirm or deny anything; however, if you would like to share your thoughts and observations with me, I would be happy to listen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam nodded, allowing his eyes to glance at the floor briefly before letting their eyes meet.  At that point, Sam did not look away.  “So, this year is the first time that Dean and I have been in the same school together since I was in, like, second grade.”  Sam paused for a moment as though contemplating his next words carefully.  “I mean, I don’t see him very much with our schedules being so different, but I see him enough and people know he’s my brother, so word gets ‘round.”  Cas wasn’t sure where this was going, but he decided to let Sam continue uninterrupted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what he’s like outside of school:  he’s scatterbrained, and funny, and a real nerd even though he’d totally deny it.”  Both boys shared a smile at this very accurate description.  “And, yeah, he acts like a dick a lot, but he’s a good guy with a genuine and caring heart.”  Cas wished that Dean could hear Sam’s assessment of him; although simple, everything that he was saying was true.  Dean always seemed to focus on his own faults and shortcomings, and he often spoke as though that’s all anyone else saw in him as well.  “Anyway, I love those things about my big brother, but at school, he’s a totally different person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam paused and Cas took the opportunity to inquire further.  “What specifically has stood out to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cas, my brother might be a flirt, but I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> seen him go out of his way to appear so--fuck, I don’t know what to call it.  Like, he looks like he’s trying to play straight, but to a ridiculously over-the-top level.”  Cas started to process this, but Sam continued.  “Okay, here’s an example.  I can think of </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe</span>
  </em>
  <span> three girls he’s dated in high school, and none of them have been for longer than a couple weeks, and yet he </span>
  <em>
    <span>talks</span>
  </em>
  <span> like he’s got girls lining up around the block.  Like, he acts like the biggest flirt and like he’s got all this game, but I see him at home, so I can tell when he’s full of it.”  Sam was running his hands through his long hair, sending strands flying every which way.  “I don’t think I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> heard him talk about a girl here at home or even when I’m with you guys.  Maybe he just doesn’t want me to hear, but like hell if he doesn’t seem to talk about </span>
  <em>
    <span>every other personal topic when I’m around</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”  One of the ways that Dean would always try to get under Sam’s skin was by being blunt to the point of being crass or crude (this always earned a shove to the shoulder from Sam or some other squeamish response), but now that Cas was thinking about it, Sam was right; Cas couldn’t think of a time that Dean had talked about liking a girl from school (or from anywhere for that matter).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway, I noticed that within the first couple weeks of school and then there were just other little things.  Like, I’ve noticed that Dean seems to check out guys a lot.  It’s never super obvious, but like I said, I’ve started paying closer attention.  And, even though I am almost a hundred percent sure that he doesn’t realize he’s doing this, any time there’s a show or something on TV with a gay guy, Dean can’t look at the screen.  Or, like, if he does, he starts putzing around with his phone first or watching the show out of the corner of his eye.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Listening to Sam was starting to make Cas feel bad; he was supposed to be Dean’s best friend and yet he hadn’t noticed anything until </span>
  <em>
    <span>much</span>
  </em>
  <span> later into the year.  And yet, he wished that Dean could have heard Sam say it all.  Unbeknownst to him, his little brother had been paying far more attention to him than Dean thought he was worth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he was unsure of what to say back, Cas stared at Sam who stared right back.  “You--you’ve made some good observations.”  Cas was trying to tread very lightly; although he was almost one hundred percent certain that Sam harbored no ill feelings towards his brother regardless of his sexuality, Cas was not going to risk hurting Dean.  “Let me ask you this, Sam.”  Cas was choosing his words carefully, and as he spoke, he was scrutinizing Sam, looking for any clues, verbal or otherwise, that would provide some clarification for him.  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>If</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dean was in fact gay--and please know, I’m not saying that he is--but if he was, how would you feel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam seemed genuinely confused by the question.  “What do you mean?”  His thick eyebrows disappeared into his hair as he watched Cas carefully; the tiptoeing through this conversation was both mentally and physically exhausting, but it was well worth it if it meant helping Dean.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve already speculated that you think Dean might be gay, so my question for you is this:  how would you feel if your brother </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> gay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam’s eyebrows dropped as though angry.  “Cas, are you suggesting that I would or </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> bear ill will towards my brother if he is gay?  Because if you are, then I gotta say, you can fuck yourself.”  Sam was standing at this point, towering over Cas and seeming on the verge of upending the computer chair upon which he sat.  Thankfully, Cas was able to respond before Sam’s anger compounded further.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay!”  He was on his feet now as his voice, higher than it had been since puberty, seemed to race from his lips.  “I think you and I have been lightly and gently dancing around the same thing since we began speaking, and I believe that now would be a good time to be a little more straightforward and direct.”  Cas had positioned his chair in front of him as though trying to shield himself.  “Sam, I had a conversation with your brother several weeks ago where I brought to his attention many of the same observations that you just made.  In that conversation, he did admit to me that he was gay, and since that moment, I have been trying to get him to understand that he is the same person that he always was; however, his self-worth and self-esteem are in a far more dire spot than I have ever seen them before.”  The words tumbled from his lips, and the more he was able to explain, the more calm Sam seemed; although he remained on his feet, Sam’s features had relaxed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you asked him?  Like, actually asked him?”  Sam’s voice was tentative now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once again, they stood in silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does he think, Cas?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All parts of this conversation felt like a violation of Dean’s trust, and while he had come to terms with the decision to talk to Sam either way as a way of saving Dean from himself, Cas had resolved not to divulge information on the search history results.  He believed Dean when he said that he had not truly considered harming himself, and at this point, offering up that information would only make Dean hate himself further and feel more embarrassed by the entire topic.  Instead, Cas answered, “When we talked, Dean expressed to me that he thinks everyone will hate him more when and if they find out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean ‘more’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas sighed.  “Sam, your brother’s self-esteem is abysmally low.  I have yet to figure out what led him to this point, but on a </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> day, Dean often sees the people in his life as being around him out of guilt, or obligation, or maybe as some kind of courtesy.  I spent about an hour that night assuring him that my love and concern for him has </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do with his sexuality, and even then, I had to hide his car keys and use a role-reversal scenario for him to understand that I am not going anywhere.”  At some point, tears began to run down Cas’ cheeks, but he didn’t care.  “Your brother is terrified that you will lose any respect that you do have for him, Sam.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, Sam collapsed back on his bed as his own eyes glistened and he fumbled in his lap with his hands.  “How could he ever think that, Cas?”  As the first tear rolled, Sam’s voice grew.  “He’s my brother, Cas!   How could he think I’d be so shallow?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, Sam.  And I also know that you have never done anything to foster this thinking; it’s just something that seems to be ingrained in Dean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A silence fell over them both only broken by the occasional shuffling of feet or the sniffling of a nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting straighter with a look of determination drawing across his face, Sam asked, “What can we do to help him, Cas?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. What Happened to John's Boy?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>One evening when Dean is home alone with his father, John calls his son into the living room.</p><p>"Take a seat, son.  We gotta talk."</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Hey, Dean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the sound of his father’s gruff and distant voice, Dean sat up.  He had been sitting at the head of his bed, his back leaning against the windowsill that looked out across the street, just thinking.  Since he and Cas had the conversation, he had been doing a lot of self-analysis and gotten lost in his own head more than ever before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prior to that Friday when everything had changed for him, Dean had never given his own </span>
  <em>
    <span>feelings</span>
  </em>
  <span> much consideration; in fact, he spent most of his life burying those feelings deep down, not even allowing himself to figure out what they meant.  Acknowledging them would have forced him to give it all a name, and without one, it had been so much easier to pretend that it all just didn’t exist for him.  But then, Cas asked.  They opened Pandora’s Box and once he started talking, started thinking, well, he just couldn’t stop.  The worst part of the thinking had been the way he would reflect on </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he’d done that day, trying to figure out if he’d let this </span>
  <em>
    <span>other thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> in him show the way he did with Cas without ever realizing.  Although Cas never told him what “other observations” he had made to figure out that he was--yeah--and Dean had never asked, it didn’t stop him from trying to be all the more careful.  If Cas saw things, then it was possible that other people would too, right?  What would happen then?  What if his mom saw something about him?  Or his </span>
  <em>
    <span>dad</span>
  </em>
  <span>?  That thought had sent Dean sprinting into the bathroom earlier, barely making it to the toilet before his throat burned with the stomach acid that came topside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John Winchester was a man’s man:  he fixed cars, he watched sports, he drank, and he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty.  Since he was a little kid, Dean had always felt the pull to follow in his father’s footsteps, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>--this stupid thing about him that he had tried to control and hide and bury, but that just kept rearing its ugly head to fuck up his life--</span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> would make everything fall apart.  If he wasn’t John’s boy, then who was he?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean walked out to find his dad sitting alone in the living room.  Sam and their mom had gone out to do some last minute Christmas shopping (terrible timing with it being only a handful of days before Christmas), which meant that Dean and John were home alone.  While such a thought had never made him feel nervous before, things were different now.  “Take a seat, son.  We gotta talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those words.  Dean had been dreading those words for years.  And that tone.  He knew that tone all too well; it was the tone his father used whenever Dean had fucked up or disappointed him, both of which happened more than he liked to admit.  And John’s eyes.  His dark eyes seemed to be scrutinizing and watching Dean’s every move (or in this case, the way Dean had frozen in the entryway to the living room).  “Dean.”  At the sound of his father’s sharp speech, Dean felt himself propelled forward, albeit slowly and with painstaking care the farther he stepped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing before his father, John motioned to the chair beside him; being the good son that he was, he didn’t wait for his father to ask.  Dean lowered himself onto the chair and, once again, wished he’d disappear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence fell over the room.  John seemed to be testing Dean, seeing how long his son could remain quiet as he trembled in the presence of his father.  Watching John was like staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, and with a shaky breath, Dean spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad....”  Although Dean tried to meet his father’s gaze, the disappointment behind John’s eyes was too much to bear and Dean seemed to cave under it all.  As the tears started to roll down his cheeks, John raised an eyebrow.  And then, for the second time, Dean started to speak and couldn’t stop himself.  “Dad, I am so s-sorry!”  His voice was too loud and far from dignified, but Dean could not have done anything about it if he had wanted to.  “I’ve tried so h-hard for so long to be who I kn-know I sh-should be, but I f-fucking failed you!  I’m so sorry!  P-please, don’t hate me!”  He didn’t need a mirror to know that he looked pathetic; snot was running down his face as he stuttered over his words and spit shot from his mouth every time he tried to get a thought out.  His head, which had been hurting consistently since the night that he and Cas talked, was throbbing once again, and had he not puked up whatever was in his stomach earlier, he was certain he would have done so then.  That apology was not the end of it though.  Dean kept going, speaking faster than his thoughts could form, and he held nothing back.  He spilled everything, all of his secrets, from the feelings he’d been fighting for so long, to the first time he’d realized how fucked up he really was, way back in 6th grade when he walked into a gym locker room for the first time; he admitted all of the ways that he’d tried to change who he was, and all of the ways the he knew he was letting people down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the sobs and the shaking rendered him speechless, he sat, his eyes closed tight, his fists clenched, and prepared himself for what was to come.  When he heard the sound of the couch slide against the floor as his father stood up, Dean flinched reflexively, but nothing happened.  After a moment, he allowed his eyes to glance up and he found his father, staring out the front window and into the darkness.  Even through his puffy and swollen eyes, Dean could see the frustration and disappointment written across his father’s face; it was as clear as day.  Not knowing what else to say, Dean offered one final apology.  “I am so, so sorry, Dad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After another moment, John turned around.  Dean didn’t want to see his father, but knew that he owed him this much; Dean didn’t want to be more of a disappointment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For fuck’s sake, Dean.”  The words were sharp, and they cut deep, but what came after hurt even more.  “When your brother talked to me, I couldn’t fucking believe what he was telling me.”  His stomach dropped.  Sammy not only knew, but he had told their dad.  Fuck Cas for ever trying to convince him that anybody else would understand.  What </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> there to understand?  He was fucked in the head, end of story.  Even though he knew better, he had found himself wishfully thinking that Cas could be right--that his family maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> hate him,--but then his father and his brother--two of the most important people in Dean’s life--both knew what he was and what a disappointment he’d turned out to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean, look at me, damnit.”  John was squatting in front of him, and although it felt as though his lungs were being crushed, Dean forced himself to look his father in the eyes.  John’s face was pale and his eyebrows furrowed heavily, making him appear dangerous at such a close distance.  “How the fuck could you </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> think that this is how it would be, huh?”  Dean struggled to catch his breath as the tears burned his eyes, fogging up his glasses.  But his father was not done yet.  “How could you </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> think that my love for you would be based on this?”  Fuck his inability to take a proper breath.  At John’s words, Dean seemed to forget how to breathe altogether.  “Where the fuck did I go wrong?  Damn it, Dean, you’re my son.  There are very few things in your life that could make me disappointed in you, and this sure as shit isn’t one of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean didn’t know what to do.  His head throbbed, his lungs were tight, his face was wet with tears and snot.  And then, that feeling in his stomach returned.  Without thinking any further, he pushed himself up off of the chair and sprinted to the bathroom.  With trembling hands, he threw open the toilet lid and once again felt the sensation of bile creeping up his throat as he struggled to breathe between heaves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Between the sound of vomit plastering against porcelain and his own gasping, Dean heard his dad step into the bathroom.  Although he couldn’t see him, just knowing that his father was behind him, watching this pathetic display, left Dean’s face burn with embarrassment.  But then, a hand touched his shoulder.  At the contact, Dean began to sob.  So many feelings were swirling through him at once and he didn’t know what to think, or do, or say.  John seemed to know this; he knelt down behind Dean and pulled his son against his chest.  In a way he had not done since Dean was a small child, John just held him close and rubbed soft circles into Dean’s shaking back.  They remained there for several minutes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice small and raw, Dean spoke to his father.  “Dad,  I’m so sorry.”  With the words, the grip on his father tightened, and he felt John do the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean, you have </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> to apologize for.”  John’s voice was uncharacteristically soft.  “If anyone should apologize, it’s me.  Never in my life did I think this would be something we’d struggle with.”  Dean hiccupped and sniffed loudly against his father’s shirt.  “Hold on.”  John released Dean slightly and dropped his own head until they were looking into each other’s eyes.  “Let me try that again:  Never in my life did I think </span>
  <em>
    <span>you questioning my love for you</span>
  </em>
  <span> would be something that we’d struggle with.  And the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> disappointment I’m feeling is with myself because--Dean, I’m sorry that I put you through this.  Son, I know that I’m not easy to talk to, and hell, I know that you learned a lot of your shit from me, but you never have to worry about this, you understand?”  Dean nodded, but that response seemed unsatisfactory for John Winchester.  “Try that again, son.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sir,” Dean whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean, you’re my boy, and you always will be.”  In spite of everything else that he’d been feeling and thinking, and the physical fuckery he was experiencing, Dean laughed gently.  He was still John’s boy.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Feelings of Betrayal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Cas, Dean, and Sam come together to talk about what happened.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Cas was sitting on his bed with his phone in his hand, waiting for a text message.  Although he had known he shouldn’t expect anything before six o’clock that evening, he hadn’t been able to put it down in hours, afraid he might miss it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, his phone vibrated.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>New Message:  Sam Winchester</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>     Dad texted me. They talked. About 5 minutes from home.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cas sent a brief reply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>     Leaving now.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And with that, he was on his way.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Winchester’s was about a two-minute drive from the Novak house, which normally equated to a ten-minute walk, but on this frigid evening, it was a four-minute sprint.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cas stopped as he reached the front walkway, resting his hand on his side as his heart threatened to pound through his chest.  He heard the side door of the house close and he watched John walk towards the silver car parked in the driveway with Mary in the driver’s seat.  As he reached to open the passenger door, John noticed Cas, who offered a small wave.  As opposed to getting in the car, John said something to his wife and then walked to meet Cas at the sidewalk.  He had been expecting John to say something, but instead, Cas was pulled into a strong embrace.  For an instant, he didn’t know what to do; he was no stranger at the Winchester house, and he knew that John liked him, but this was completely uncharacteristic.  After his brief pause, however, Cas returned the hug.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, kid,” John began, not letting him go, “I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for being so good to my boys.”  Cas let out a small, inaudible gasp and a tear fell down his cheek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a pat on the shoulder and a small sniff himself, John smiled before he walked back to the car in the driveway.  As he climbed in the passenger door, he called to Cas, “Good luck in there,” and then disappeared.  Mary pulled out of the driveway and offered a smile and a wave as she drove down the snowy road.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With that, Cas turned his attention back to the house.  Stepping up to the front door, he gave the door knob a turn and walked into the warmth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The first thing that Cas noticed when he walked inside was shouting.  Although he couldn’t completely understand what was being said, he could hear Sam’s voice ringing loud and echoing throughout the house.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He followed the sound to Dean’s bedroom where Sam was leaning against the wall and yelling through the closed door.  “Come on, Dean!  Just open the door, wouldya?”  Seeing Cas approach, Sam gave a sigh.  “Dude,” he yelled again, “Cas is here.”  Taking a step back from the door, Sam allowed Cas to try.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cas gave a small knock.  “Hello, Dean.”  The door didn’t remain locked for long.  In an instant, he heard it click and the door was thrown open.  Compared to the bright lights in the hallway, Dean’s room was dark and dim with only the two small bedroom lamps giving off any light.  As he looked into his best friend’s eyes, Cas felt his heart drop and he heard a groan escape from Sam, still standing behind him.  “Dean, are you alright?”  Dean’s green eyes were almost completely obscured through swollen and puffy eyelids; his face was blotchy, his nose red, and the front of his shirt soaked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even through the half-closed lids, Cas could see something like malice in Dean’s eyes.  “He fuckin’ told my dad, Cas!”  Dean’s voice was hoarse and raspy, and his shoulders shook as he spoke.  “My fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>dad</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”  Cas noticed Dean’s hands clenched at his sides as he stared at his little brother over Cas’ shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean--” Sam began, but he was unable to finish his thought.  Dean lunged at Sam, attempting to throttle him in the hallway, but catching Cas by mistake.  Dean scrambled to push past his friend, but even with a sore jaw, Cas remained unmoving and resolute.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean!” Cas yelled, struggling to hold him in place as Sam stood just out of arm’s reach, trying to offer an apology or some type of calming words.  “Dean, that’s enough.  It’s over!”  Although the fight did not immediately leave him, Cas held Dean and guided him into his bedroom, helping him sit on the bed.  Sam followed, closing the door behind him, but leaning against the far wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Until he could feel the tension in the room relax slightly, Cas maintained a hand on Dean.  After several minutes, when he was confident that Dean’s breathing had returned to something close to normal, Cas knelt down next to his friend.  “Dean, please.  What happened?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean tore his gaze from his little brother, turning to stare at Cas instead; the anger that had been there before was replaced with a look of shock.  “Cas, he told my dad!  He told him--”  He turned his attention, and his anger, back to his little brother.  “How the fuck could you do this to me, Sammy?  Huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam reached a hand forward as though wanting to take hold of his brother, with tears welling in his eyes, but Cas interjected instead.  “Dean.”  He positioned himself between the Winchester boys and forced Dean’s eyes to meet his.  “Your brother and I told your father together.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A thousand thoughts and feelings seemed to go through Dean’s mind all at once as he worked to make sense of what Cas had said.  Finally, as the familiar green eyes fell back on his, Cas was left staring at a face that appeared defeated.  “Cas….”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But before Dean could say anymore, Cas began to explain.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What can we do to help him, Cas?”  Hearing Sam say those words filled his heart with joy.  Cas had already decided that he was willing to do whatever he could to help Dean no matter how big the job seemed; however, seeing the love and determination in Sam Winchester’s eyes left Cas feeling more hopeful than ever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a small smile, Cas began to explain his thinking.  “Before we do anything, we need to be very careful.  I don’t want to force your brother into something before he is ready, but--” Again, the results of Dean’s search history were flashing through his mind, causing his chest to tighten.  “--for the sake of Dean’s mental health and self-worth, I truly believe that we need to do something.”  Sam’s fingers were interlocked and he was watching Cas intently.  “I know your brother well enough to know that the opinions of his family mean the world to him.  The night that he and I spoke, he had told me how terrified he was that you and your parents were going to hate him for this, and while I understand where his fear is coming from, I think his greatest fear now is with your father.”  It was impossible to know how John Winchester would react, and Cas could see that Sam was sharing in this thinking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam offered a slight nod.  Both boys remained silent as though trying to determine the best plan of action when Cas saw Sam sit up a little straighter.  Turning his big hazel eyes towards Cas, Sam spoke slowly.  “So, I have an idea.  It may be dumb, but I think it would be the safest for Dean in the offchance that my dad </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> have a problem.”  Cas gestured for Sam to share, and after a deep breath, he did.  “I’ll talk to my dad.  I’ll ask him how he would feel if I told him that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> were gay.  Depending on his reaction, I can either go forward and talk about Dean a little, or not.”  Cas thought about this, but Sam kept going.  “You said it yourself, Cas.  This isn’t about us trying to ‘out’ my brother, but help him with his self-loathing and everything else he’s fighting.  He needs to understand that he’s got family who aren’t going anywhere.”  At that, Sam paused for a moment.  “And if ‘family’ means just you and me, then so be it, but I don’t think it will.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cas contemplated this.  “Let’s assume for a moment that your father will not respond well to all of this.”  Sam nodded, allowing this scenario to play out.  “If you even pose the question to him in regards to your own sexuality, aren’t you opening yourself up to potential problems with him assuming now that </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> gay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but I’m willing to take that chance.”  There was no hesitance to his voice; as though this were the easiest decision in the world, Sam was willing to take on whatever his father may or may not throw his way if it meant helping his older brother.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d like to be with you.”  Sam seemed uncertain by this idea.  “I hear what you’re saying; like you, I believe that your father will not react as Dean fears he will--in fact, I told him as much--but just in case, I’d like to be there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam smiled.  “You got it, Cas.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And that’s what we did.  It was that same night while you and your mom were out for the movie.  Your dad had gotten home and we met him in the living room.  We three made brief conversation before Sam told him that he wanted to ask him something that was pretty serious.  We all sat down--at that point, your father did seem a little perplexed by my presence--and Sam asked him quite plainly how he would feel if he--Sam--were gay.”  Cas paused for a moment, letting Dean process, while also trying to read his best friend’s facial expressions.  The sadness and exhaustion were obvious under everything else, and after a moment, Cas continued.  “Your father initially seemed taken aback with the question and he kept looking between us both.  To be fair, Sam and I were sitting together fairly close on the couch, so it was quite clear that he was assuming that we were in a relationship together.”  This thought made Cas grin, but Dean’s face remained unchanged.  “But, Dean, he--”  At a hand on his shoulder, Cas stopped and looked to see Sam standing behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Making room, Sam crouched down in front of his brother, resting a hand on Dean’s bouncing knee.  “Dean, Dad said that he would love me no matter what.”  Fresh, unshed tears collected on Sam’s eyelashes and a gentle smile spread across his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Although the anger and rage had left his face, Dean still looked hesitant as he stared back into Sam’s eyes.  He opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it.  After a moment more, Dean cleared his throat, and asked, “But that’s you, Sammy.  I love you, I hope that you know that, but you and I are different.  You took a risk asking about you, but what if he wouldn’t have felt that way about </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean,” Sam seemed to be pleading with his brother, begging for his understanding.  “I swear to you, I would have </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> risked your safety.”  Cas watched the two brothers closely.  In so many ways, they were polar opposites of one another:  their interests, their personalities, the way they carried themselves, even their appearances.  If Cas had not known them, he wouldn’t have immediately thought that they were brothers; however, the one way that they could not be more alike was in the love for and bond that they shared with one another.  Cas knew that both brothers would kill or die before letting something happen to the other, and Sam and Dean knew that too.  At that moment, Cas could see that Sam was counting on Dean remembering that and trusting him.  “After he told me that he’d never stop loving me, I asked him--”  At this, Sam’s voice cracked and the unshed tears fell.  Clearing his throat and wiping his nose with the back of his hand, he leaned closer towards Dean.  “I asked him, ‘And what if it were Dean?’  And, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Dean, I had the same concerns as you and I was terrified, but that man </span>
  <em>
    <span>never fuckin’ hesitated</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  He said as level as anything else, ‘I’d tell him the exact same thing.’  And I tried to keep it together, but I was feeling so--overwhelmed with everything, that I started tearing up and I told him, ‘Then you should talk to Dean.’  And that was it.  I promise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then what did he say?”  Dean’s voice was small, like that of a timid child thrown into a new and unfamiliar environment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam tried to speak, but was struggling through the tears, so Cas knelt beside him, resting his hand on Dean’s knee where Sam’s had previously been.  “He said nothing, Dean.”  And that was the truth.  John didn’t try to clarify Sam’s meaning, he didn’t inquire further about Sam’s sexuality, or anything else.  “He didn’t say anything, and instead got up and hugged your brother.”  Cas could hear Sam’s hiccupy breathing.  “And after Sam, he hugged me, and that was it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All three boys remained quiet for the time and Cas kept his eyes trained on Dean whose features softened slightly as he rubbed at his temples, as though trying to clear away a migraine.  “But that was days ago.”  Watching and listening to Dean over the past couple weeks had been excruciating for Cas; his best friend who had always been confident, and funny, and just a tad dramatic was now a shell of his former self in his speech and presentation.  The transformation had been sudden and painful to watch, but Cas was going to do whatever it took to help Dean get back some of what he lost.  “How could no one say anything to me since then?  Everyone just acted like things were so normal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, it was Sam who spoke.  “That’s because it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> normal, Dean.  There’s nothing wrong with you or abnormal about you; why would any of us treat you differently?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>New tears fell from Dean’s face as he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his brother and his best friend.  In response, Sam and Cas did the same.  There was not a dry eye left in that room as the boys sat together, wrapped in each other’s arms.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Swedes and Subtitles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dean is left reflecting on how his life changed over the past several weeks.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sam had texted John to let him know that everything at home was worked out, but he and Mary had decided to catch a movie, so they wouldn’t be home until close to midnight.  In the meantime, Dean talked about the conversation with his dad, explaining his panic attacks throughout the day, the trips to the toilet, the anxiety he felt as he unloaded everything on his father, and eventually, John’s never-ending love and support.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel a little silly for ever being so worried about it.”  Dean rubbed his puffy eyes as he felt his cheeks burn; </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he was looking forward to the time when he would stop getting worked up or embarrassed by every fucking thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope,” Sam said.  The three boys were sitting on the floor of Dean’s bedroom, a couple bags of chips and cans of soda between them.  “Don’t do that, Dean.  There is not a person in the world who could or would think that you overreacted, and if there is, well, fuck them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your brother is right.  This is your life, and you’re entitled to your reactions, whatever they might be.  Besides, if it were me, I think I’d have been the same way, or maybe even worse.”  Dean knew that Cas was lying with that last bit, but he didn’t care.  For the first time in weeks, Dean was able to breathe deep and without fear of being abandoned by his family.  These were the most important people in his life, so if he hadn’t lost them, then he could deal with whatever else the world had in store for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the hours passed by, their conversation eventually drifted away from Dean’s sexuality and everything that went along with that, and instead went to the fuckin’ Swedish movie that Cas had made him watch.  He should not have been surprised, but Sam admitted that he had </span>
  <em>
    <span>also</span>
  </em>
  <span> seen and enjoyed two-and-a-half hours of Swedes and subtitles, so they decided to watch </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Girl Who Played with Fire</span>
  </em>
  <span> which was the second installment in the trilogy.  From what he gathered, the plot of the sequel was actually good--truth be told, he liked the first one too, or at least the parts that he actually paid attention to that night--but once again, he found himself having a hard time really focusing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, as Cas and Sam sat huddled on either side of him, their eyes glued to the screen and their bodies leaning forward as though being pulled into the film itself, Dean was left thinking about everything that had happened.  For someone who always hated </span>
  <em>
    <span>feelings</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>thinking about his feelings</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he realized that he had been doing it a lot lately, and he was actually kind of thankful.  If it weren’t for Cas and Sam, he’d be going into the holidays, filled with hatred at himself and fear and dangerous thoughts that he didn’t even want to think about anymore.  But now he wasn’t; instead, his winter break would be spent joking around with his two best friends, watching movies until way too late, and maybe, </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe</span>
  </em>
  <span> letting himself say out loud that this Swedish actor was actually kind of hot for an old dude.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean Winchester had never been someone who could talk about himself or let himself have “chick flick moments,” but he was starting to realize that talking about shit wasn’t actually that bad.  He also realized that he was lucky to have a family like his.  Yeah, his dad could be a hardass, and maybe he and Sammy didn’t have a whole lot in common the older they got, but they never batted an eye or looked at him funny when they found out about him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prior to all of this, Dean had looked up some videos online about people telling their families that they were gay, knowing that he someday wanted to admit things to himself and tell his own family.  He watched a lot, and damn, if there weren’t so many horror stories out there.  Yeah, he saw some nice ones too, but the ones where kids were kicked out, or beaten up by their parents, or told that they didn’t matter stuck with him and had him freaked.  But in that moment, sitting in his room with these two and watching a movie made him feel all the more grateful for the life he had.  And no matter what Cas said about being entitled to his own reactions, Dean did feel a twinge of guilt for ever really thinking that his family would be like those other families and turn their backs on him, but he wasn’t going to dwell on that for long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting between his brother and his best friend, Dean breathed a sigh of relief.  He was safe, he was loved, and fuck, he was happy.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I wanted to tell a story in which a character battles their inner demons and self-esteem issues (things that are far too real and too common for many people), but finds that "click flick moments" and a solid support system can help overcome just about anything.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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